Disclaimer: I don't own Spyro.

"Sparx! Spaaaaaarrrrrrrrxxxxxxxx!"

Sparx groaned. The hoarse voice of his sick friend was calling for him. It could only mean he wanted him to do something for him. The dragonfly shuddered in dread. He was not happy about having to look after a sick fire-breathing creature. The only reason why he was doing it was because this one was his best buddy.

Sighing, Sparx flew towards the bedroom of his unwell companion. He soared through the door which had been left open, entering the room.

"Hey, Spyro," he buzzed. "How ya doin'?"

Spyro gazed weakly at him from his bed. Five days had passed since the young dragon had caught a cold. The elder dragons had ordered for him to get some rest - and decided to stay as far away from him as possible out of fear of catching his illness. He looked very miserable. It was no fun being sick and not being able to toast Gnasty Gnorc, Ripto and the Sorceress. The only company he had was that of his best friend who had been taking care of him.

"Still feelin' blue, buddy?"

"I ain't blue," Spyro wheezed. "I'm purple."

Sparx sighed, rolling his eyes over how his friend didn't catch on, but still smiling at him. "Is there anything you need me to do for you?"

All of a sudden, Spyro let off a loud sneeze. Flames blasted from the little dragon's nostrils, engulfing the horrified dragonfly who was hovering too close to him. The fire which Spyro had blasted at his best friend quickly died down, leaving a now pitch black instead of bright gold Sparx.

Spyro sniffed, neglecting to notice what he had done to his chum. "Get me a glass of water, pal."

"Yes, Spyro." The burnt dragonfly let off a low, irrupted buzz before flying out of the bedroom. Sparx was just wondering how much water he'd need to extinguish Spyro's fiery breath - when he was suddenly struck by a dumbfounding realisation.

"Wait a minute! How am I expected to pour a glass of water?! I don't have any hands!"